I was born from the image of the first man The Garden of Eden is my birth land Molded from clay instead of a rib cage The truth of my story was torn from it's page

I was forced to serve man upon my knees A subservient sheep was not that of me A demon now formed from that of God's wrath Cast out of Eden to now walk the left hand path

My name is Lilith I am The Mother of Demons I rape men while they sleep to collect all of their semen . To impregnate myself so I can birth all their bastards Who rebell against God like wild dogs without masters.

As I sit on my throne in my Desert Dwelling Cave A Dark Angel falls before me no longer God's slave His name is Samael the Fallen Angel of Destruction Now is my Husband who helps bring forth corruption .

Earth bound, his body is filled with primal desires. A beastial lust with a craving to fuck what he admires God kept from him the pleasures of the skin A demon he now is embracing man's sin

We join together in our Unholy Alliance Our pride is the reason why we fled in defiance To sneak into Eden is the plan that we conceived And corrupt man and woman known as Adam and Eve

My husband plants a tree to set up our trap I become the primordial snake on its branches I enwrap This Tree of Knowledge enticing all with temptation To eat of its fruits is sure to bring damnation

My forked tongue with its convincing speech Tempt that of Eve to take a bite of a peach God now enraged by his disobedient slave Our sweet revenge that brings seduction , betrayal and deprave

God's curse on Eve for all women to menstruate A punishment for the disloyalty from her weak will she demonstrates And for seducing Adam to indulge in the forbidden fruits The feminine lure bewitching God's men into dissolute

As the Infernal Union who rule both the Earth and Hell Teaching humans the pleasures of flesh and desire which infidel Our influence on men is why there is original sin The mask that hides corruption, A wolf in sheeps skin

Poem by DaughterofSaturn

^(7/25/20)

I can't seem to hold still

My hands are running harder

My goals are moving farther

Away from what I could be.

🍂

I can't seem to calm down

I'm shaking and shaking

Turning my motor

Pulling it over

🍂

I breathe a breath of moments wed

Of times a tumbling down,

In the moment I saw you there

I chose to look away.

🍂

In the mist and midst of these

Demons, I came to know

I flipped it up and came again

Down the yellow road.

🍂

Yellow is as yellow be's

And all the best because of these

I do my best with what I have

A yellow day and yellow lad

🍂

Of happy times and dreamy days

Of dandelions that won't decay

And falling into that yellow sun,

To burn away what worries us

The guilt that hides in wait.

🍂

A shiver never older

A soul grows ever colder

A time twisty deal with messed up ink

Messes up more than you think.

🍂

Freedom is liberation from the truth.

You can choose to look away,

But is that what you really want?

🍂

How can you deal with something

Your eyes refuse to see?

🍂

How can you sing a song

Your heart refuses to know?

🍂

How can you find what you need,

Stumbling alone?

🍂

In the darkness of your arrogance

You can only find yourself.

🌼

As Lot and his wife

Left the city of Sodom

Where gnosis flourished

His wife heard Yaldabaoth’s wrath

As the two lands burned

Hearing the children crying

Her heart made blood tears

It ripped from top to bottom

Hearing the calm call

Of gnosis singing with joy

Her soul remembered

She looked back with a quick glance

Before salty rain

Became rivers on her face

In an eye’s twinkling

She turned into a pillar

A pillar of salt

A tower of white rock salt

Through which her spirit

Climbed up the stairs of wisdom

All three thousand steps

And climbed above the heavens

And reached her first home

With all those spirits who rose

From the burning wrath

From Sodom and Gomorrah

Back below, her grave

Her grand pillar of our faith

Still stands as rock salt

To be used as seasoning

For the race of Seth

A seasoning of wisdom

To awaken all

By her noble sacrifice

Of love and gnosis

So that we all may join her

With all the angels

In the Pleroma’s banquet

Of dates and white grapes

As Philip the Apostle

Said to his students

“May our complete offering

Come with much sweet salt

For we name Sophia salt

Without her, no gift is sweet”

Light burns thy pupils Of the watchful eyes gouging and ripping Gazes through the cosmos Soaring with power Alone in the vast blackness Red fire choking the bone marrow Left out for the dogs and the wicked Snatching minds in and out of realms Wearing out the limits of perception Posion ivy hugging the pillars Of its true form Wordless mouths reach for the water Only for thy tounge to be chopped off And turned to charcoal For glory of the marching men Filling the great belly of the world oven 'Till the earth itself falls into the weary waters it holds Beginning and ending the process of life Thoroughly scrubing the skin of bone Naked flesh upon the throne Resting dead and forgotten Forever breathing Forever singing

Everlasting fear creeping into the minds Of every men and child Bearing the weight of a machine gun Naked and scarce of thought Weak and disheveled jaws Hanging open like great chasms Waiting for food Hungry eyes and empty guts Burnt rat meat on sticks Smudged in mud and blood of the innocent Child

The light burns thy pupils As love hurts thy lover Charred fingers stain the white cloth Hands hacked and sawed off For thy fingers only dwell in the coals and the rocks

Now it stares back, what am I to do, I no longer have a clue, all the codes have been unlocked, I'm unboxed without form in a wormhole.

Do you have any plans?

My Manifistation is what you are but exactly where did I go wrong? Did I choose the wrong position between the moon and earth's submission? Did I ask for a full cup when mine couldn't fit enough? And think That what should be reserved for life's greatest is what I deserve? Did I think I'd be someone else with an opposite's me help? Or was I controled by a sexual wrath which I somehow turned into witchcraft? Was it wrong that what I praised gave me a rush in evil ways? Was I supposed to be present in at least 3 of my senses? I felt the urge to make love but no human could've recieved it. A fuck so devine only the moon and it's reflection in the ocean could've percieved it. I asked for a polar shift but only to shift myself, But the natrual disaster that caused that shift just made me shit myself. How to learn from a mistake whose purpouse is to fail? I guess instead of a guid what I asked for was a personal Jail. Did I need it or think I need it? I'm still not sure which of those. Maybe what I really wanted was pleasure too great to simply be able to fit in my nose. If that's the case then I succeeded, but failed when I let my fear in. Next time I open one of hell's gate I'll be specific about what to let in. The wrong one walked through the portal, and interrupten my road to becoming inmortal. I thought for a few months that it could be nice to just be bad and normal. Heaven and hell are about perception, and yes, in heaven she was perfection. But I always make my way to hell somehow and her demons gave me directions. So be carefull if you hire Lucifer for your educación, because your reward at the end of the tunnel can be devine or can be Satan

Once I knew a man who wore shadows like tattoos

Etched into his skin, and yet they change with every mood.

Gazing at their horror I think “What a thing to bare.”

Then I look in closer and its ME at who I stare…

Gage Timothy Kreps Ramirez-

Tucked away in my lab so tight. Dreaming of being able to sleep at night. I am the dread that cost me my life. I am the one who sharpened the knife. I will stay here forever and bury myself in books. I will always seek the way that the metal cooks. If i just here awhile i may find. A way to fill this vessel in my mind. Because time is short and it has no mercy. Hermes seeks and i am still thirsty. Then i find once the vessel is hermetically sealed. Even if its only a tissue hideing whats to be revealed. That death is at the end of this road. But it wont be the end just ask the toad. So while others are in the background filling there glasses. I sit here alone wondering what happens when death passes. Because here me once this poem is not just a recipe for the art. It my secret way of telling you how to start. Love your self and others so that Hermes may find. A worthy Candidate for the retorts bind.

Pearls before oysters

Eyelashes batted sand

The cornerstones vailed bolster

A bird of a feather in open hand

light hangs an empty holster,

as Stone mocks clay to times demands.

A rubber gavel slams in silence.

The deaf of life and deaths command.

Echoes in the Silence

​

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTVMGQ9T Click here for my whole book.

​

I used to fear

the world was too cold, too dark.

Then I saw what happens

under the harsh glare of light.

Now, I wish it was just cold, just dark.

In darkness, trust is a necessity,

in cold, warmth comes from us, not the sun.

But here we are, in the light,

regretting.

In darkness, we'd tread carefully,

in cold, we'd huddle, build, survive.

In light, we're just out in the open,

exposed to too much light, too much horror.

I find myself wishing

for that cold, that dark.

Maybe never living at all

beats the hell out of dying.

By Nero Noir

There upon the desert sands, Lies a place time hath forgot.
Ruins scattered by nature's hands,
A temple to Set's familial lot.

In the frozen mountains of ymir,
Lies the chains of the great wolf.
Bound for a fate not yet here,
The great prison of Fenrir lies there.

Many search and yet none find,
The ruins of a city lost to the sea.
A place where Poseidon's rage was sent,
Atlantis hidden from you and me.

This is the Source of legends hence,
Where no man's tale can agree.
Our mortal lives can not compare,
To the eternity of the gods of land and sea.

The place where the One Above beard meets. The place were mind and soul takes there seats. The way to true Gnosis is the ability to understand. How to properly cultivate this divided land. For the Hermes you hear when you silently think. Doest hear the words of the body nor see it blink. The body can only cry out in pain to get the messages high up. The mind is there to comfort it and show how to fill its cup. The soul soars above the mind so high. Gnowing that it needs to save its mind before the body dies. Like the body the voice you think with cant hear the soul. The mind can only recive breadcrumbs from it like paying a toll. So how does One merge these 2 silent voices with your Hermes. By picking up the glassware and beginning your journeys. Burn down the body of the metals and you will see. That life is worth liveing and you can be whoever you want to Be. Only by looking into your waters can you actually see. The reflection of your soul and its true destiny. For the melting of metals can only get you so far. You need to be familiar with the soul that sits next to the stars. All these great beings in One then Three. All these different ways to be a single Me. The journeys will end once you discover this fact. That you are Hermes 3in1 great trying to find his way back.

(These haiku were made to give an allegorical description of the Gnostic aeons, since they are often depicted as abstract entities within Gnostic Christianity. I hope these poems can offer a more personal way of visualising the aeons for us).

​

Zoe

A feathered serpent

Flying with bright, phoenix wings

Her eyes are two suns

​

Wisdom (Sophia)

A lady of light

With a body of a snake

Flying with owl wings

​

Peace

Robes of white poppies

Holding a brown olive branch

Flying with dove wings

​

Perfection

His flaming hair shines

Wearing diamonds on his robes

For his pearly skin

​

Eleleth

His raiment is snow

His semblance is sunlight gold

Holding a trumpet

​

Idea

Robes made of lightning

Carrying a rainbow lamp

Robes entombed in glass

​

Love

Jasmine flower robes

Holding a long, shepherds staff

Having a deer's horns

​

Understanding

Seeing with four eyes

Holding a lotus flower

And an endless book

​

Daveithai

On the tree of life

Holding the golden palm branch

And the singing harp

​

Memory

An amber angel

Holding a lamp of fire

Whose heart is a rose

​

Conception

Holding a steel square

Robbed in infinite fabrics

Holding a compass

​

Perception

Face without a mouth

Ten eyes of every colour

All ten burst forth light

​

Oroiael

Holding a quill pen

Standing on a white lotus

Holding a candle

​

Form

Shifting forms and shapes

A male and female angel

Holding a glass ball

​

Truth

Wears sweat pea flowers

Holding an ostrich feather

And a clear mirror

​

Grace

One made of rainbows

Milk and honey flow downwards

From her gentle hands

​

Armozel

Armoured with iron

A man of perfect physique

Pearly light shining

​

Adamas of Light

Without any robes

A man without eyes and mouth

Pearly light shining

​

Gamaliel

Having large, deer horns

Sailing a ship above flames

Flying with sparrows

​

Gabriel

Youthful and beardless

Holding a spear and mirror

Wrapped in blue linen

​

Samblo

Stars on his fingers

Sailing a ship above flames

Wrapped in green linen

​

Abrasax

Head of a rooster

Holding a shield and short whip

His legs are serpents

​

Seed of Seth

Many men in one

Looking up high with grasped hands

Anointed with light

​

Emmacha Seth

Holding stone steles

Grasping the gnosis trumpet

Anointed with oil

​

Michaeus, Michar & Mnesinous

Armoured with fish scales

Carrying three water jugs

Riding silver clouds

​

Yesseus Mazaraeus Yessedekeus

A dark, bearded man

Holding a staff of styrax

And a threefold book

​

Domedon Doxomedon

Clothed in purple robes

Crowned with pure, golden glory

Whose lap is a throne

​

Ephesech (the Child of the Child)

An infant angel

A reflection of moonlight

Guiding the chosen

​

Christos Autogenes

A dark, bearded man

An eagle on his shoulder

The bright morning star

​

Yoel

Skin of white marble

Sailing on a starlight boat

Guiding the elect

​

Triple Male Child (the Great Christ)

A dark, bearded man

A simurgh on his shoulder

Shining forth moonlight

​

Protophanes (First-revealing One)

Sun of the morning

Flying with butterfly wings

Wearing daffodils

​

Kalyptos (Hidden One)

A veiled, great angel

Veiled by his dove wings of grey

The serene bythus

​

Barbelo

Mother and father

Wearing a crown of fire

Robed in gold and green

​

Monad

A triple power

An invisible spirit

A silence of light

Often have I wondered how this ALL came into Mind…

If I sit and ponder, soon I wander, losing Time.

Time could be a Dream… perhaps an Ocean, you Decide.

But Time could not do Justice something oh so Grand as I…

Gage Timothy Kreps Ramirez-

Once I knew a man who wore shadows like tattoos

Etched into his skin, and yet they change with every mood.

Gazing at their horror I think “What a thing to bare.”

Then I look in closer and its ME at who I stare…

Gage Timothy Kreps Ramirez-

A Walk Through The Shires

Underneath the quilted sky, stitched with threads of ethereal blue, there’s wisdom earned in the dance of leaves, the whisper of the wind in willows. There, the shadows of boughs sketch stories on the green of the heartland, crisscrossing like the many lives they’ve sheltered. Pity the soul who has not listened to the rural sonata, where rustling blades of grass sing of ages past, and babbling brooks narrate the history of the land.

It is not merely the setting of the sun but the careful observation of its retreat that imparts the wisdom of the time, each hue in the twilight a lesson learned from the day’s labour. Unravel the sun’s journey across the empyrean canvas, and understand the transient nature of existence, as ephemeral as the blush of the evening sky. In the countryside, where the vast wheat fields sway like golden oceans and poppies stand tall in crimson bloom, time slows, inviting us to ponder the profound.

In the rural tableau, a lonely barn squats, sturdy against the onslaught of seasons. It, too, holds the wisdom of years, the mark of weather and time visible in its wood, a testament to endurance. Look upon it, not with pity, but with admiration. For in its structure lies the tale of resilience, a parable to the stoicism in nature, to the circle of life that begins and ends in the same fertile soil. The grains that once filled its storehouse now feed the earth, growing again in the fields around, a rebirth in the cycle of sustenance.

Experience — the marvellous teacher that hones its students under the vast open sky. Wander along the hedgerows, where wildflowers burst in a jubilee of colours, and you’ll find each bloom holds a secret, each petal a verse from the poetic universe. Engage in the sweet discourse of the honeysuckle, the humble daisy, or the majestic foxglove, and gain the wisdom that does not judge but merely observes, appreciates, and lets be.

Cross the stone bridge arching over the rippling stream, a quiet ode to the aesthetics of nature and man’s place within it. This bridge, a symbolic connection between the Eastern and Western philosophies, is a testament to how well they blend in a serene setting, far removed from the clamour of the human ego. If you listen closely, the stream gurgles with Zen koans and Socratic dialogues, the water’s course, a harmonious amalgamation of the Tao and Heraclitean flux.

One could seek guidance from the tall, quiet trees whose roots dig deep into the earth, grasping life and understanding the weight of existence. An oak, perhaps, an emblem of strength and longevity, its wide branches reaching out to the sky, a metaphor for the pursuit of knowledge, or the willow, symbolising flexibility and wisdom in adaptability. Sit under their shade and listen. In the rustle of their leaves, you will hear the murmurings of Lao Tzu and Aristotle, the Eastern ethos of accepting life’s ebb and flow, and the Western idea of virtue and contemplation.

The country’s pulse beats in the drumming of a pheasant’s wings, the skylark song, and the hoot of the barn owl under a silver moon. Each creature is a character in the grand allegory of existence, adding depth and dimension to the bucolic narrative.

So, tread gently on the verdant pastures, take the wisdom offered freely by the countryside, become the attentive pupil to nature’s insightful lessons, and allow your soul to be painted with the colours of a landscape that merges the east and the west, the old and the new, the beauty and the decay, the song and the silence. Know that in every sunrise and sunset, in every grain of wheat and wildflower, lies a story to be told, a lesson to be learned, a wisdom to be sought.

​

​

The Sleeping Poet

BITTER HONEY BY THE SEA (Free Verse Allegorical Storytelling)

​

In the gloom of day's end, beneath a moon bruised and tired, he came to me, a shade of a man cast adrift on life's tempestuous sea. A soliloquy of honey words tumbled from his lips, sweet as the nectar of a thousand blooms yet laced with the bitterness of truth. He spoke of love, but not the frivolous dalliance of two hearts enchanted, but rather a deeper affection born of shared sorrow and the salve of compassion.

​

His story unfolded like the undulations of the sea, waves of human life shimmering with the sublime hues of joy and darkened by the ink of loss. I listened as he wove tales of love given and received, of love lost and regained, the cadence of his words riding upon the gentle ebb and flow of his own emotional tide. "Love," he said, "is like honey. Sweet, viscous, and golden, it sticks to the soul. But it can turn bitter when tainted by the salt of tears."

​

His gaze wandered to the sea, its vastness mirroring his despair and longing. Once tranquil cobalt, the water had become an abyssal black, absorbing the last vestiges of sunlight, a metaphor for his heart, consuming and enduring all tribulations. His spirit, akin to the moon's reflection on the shifting surface, fractured yet unbroken, held fast amidst the swaying sea of existence.

​

He imparted a philosophy not of abandonment but of acceptance. "Even honey can spoil," he mused, "and love can be lost, just as life is transient. But therein lies the harmony. In the bitter, the sweet. In the loss, the love. The balance is the essence, the pathway to inner peace. If we grasp this, the sea becomes less a place of fear and more a realm of exploration."

​

So here he was, the spectre of a man, seeking solace by the sea, unveiling his wounds under the watchful eyes of the stars. As he departed, he left behind the taste of his honeyed words, a mix of bitter and sweet. His tale was not merely one of love, life, and loss but a guidance, a lantern in the gloom, urging us to embrace our tempests, brave our seas, and taste our bitter honey.

​

The Sleeping Poet

​

Upon the woven tapestry of humankind,

Stitches, in shadow, trace the lines of woe,

In the hidden depths, where misery intertwines,

A mechanism that silently turns in the undertow.

​

Cogs of sorrow mesh in the heart's grand design,

Steeled by years of tender aches and silent tears,

Yet, amid life's intricate, delicate alignment,

Flourishes a beauty as stark as it endears.

​

Oh, how it churns, this mechanism of despair,

Forging strength in suffering, crafting wisdom from the pain,

This is not without purpose, not without its fair share,

For in the chill of sorrow, compassion we attain.

​

The pain of man, woman, and child - universal and profound,

Yet this shared experience unites us in this sphere,

In the crucible of struggle, where empathy is found,

Humanity's beauty resonates, crystal clear.

​

So raise your gaze, dear soul, see beyond the grey,

For even in the harshest winter, blossoms in spring,

Celebrate the mechanism, both the work and play,

In the heart of misery, hear humanity sing.

​

Behind each veil of sadness, note the chime,

Not of defeat but of resilience, so profound,

For even as we turn the gears of time,

In our shared human condition, we are bound.

​

Every tear, every ache, every echoed cry,

Is but a gear in the mechanism of sorrow, we decree,

Yet in its depths, look again, pry,

For humanity's beauty, in the mechanism, you'll see.

​

​

The Sleeping Poet

Here's a poem that was influenced by some of my occult ideas and experiences. Hope someone can enjoy this, I felt really inspired.

Was it a mistake to think I made a mistake that was, in fact, a sin,

Or perhaps was it a mistake to think that I ever sinned?

If you stare at the moon, do you see something? I saw many.

Images that were in fact deceiving? Yet there was no mistake here.

Two who danced as one, glistening with a radiant blue light

Eclipses of angelic beings, bringing a precense of love and law

A face of a future ally who would deceive me in her own insanity

Fractals I have now forgotten, when I was first shown the secrets of the moon.

I can claim I don't know if there is any truth to know of that which we become after death.

Was it true that I was shown what happens?

I couldn't assume that I could know.

It seems I may already have once known.

I simply don't remember what any of it was at certain times that I seemed to,

And other times, I do still remember,

There must have been no mistakes here, yet it may not be of truth.

Just the mind in her artistic works to show us beauty in the finest of ways.

Yet the more I know the more I ask the void and the dead, what is truth?

And is there a place like heaven, or was I surely deceived as a child,

Later to find new sources for hope and foundation.

"Heaven exists as a filthy rich excretion of your own blood when nothing makes sense anymore," says the dead.

"So have you known what happens at the moment of death, or have you forgotten that you are dead? I do not know if you have," says I to the dead.

When I died, I either ceased to perceive anything or forgot what occured.

"What truly is heaven? You had perfectly created the words of nonsense without a last word of such a place," I question the dead, without hesitation.

"Where what is done cannot have been done certainly," says the dead.

"On earth, it at least seems like everything cannot be done uncertainly, yet certainly it cannot be continued certainly," says a self of mine that seems unknown.

"Does this seem to be due to the fact that what may be done cannot be continued and becomes the past? Have I forgotten why you let that question be without another?

"Should I go where something in my perception tells me if I don't know where or why?

"Did I interrupt the train before in a way like what was written before this line? Define line." I go on and on with my questions, but I expect too much and lust for the knowledge of the dead.

"Oh you were bold but you have no Rememberence. Who do you believe you are, or is my question not of what is Empirical?" says the dead.

Now I cannot go on to ask them anything more,

For I have failed to yield the results I wanted

Beyond what I could comprehend.

Hello everyone, this is a fellow poetry lover, I have started a website where I hope I will be able to host many of your beautiful poems. If anyone is interested at all, submit your work at poet4nowsubmissions@gmail.com we aim to respond within 12-24 hours.

Full credit to authors, this will be a monthly virtual issue to highlight the growing community of poets.

Greetings, good people of the sub. I work with Fantasy Audio Magazine, an independent cult art & music publisher based in Covington, KY. We aren't big, but we're definitely growing. I'd like to put out a small batch of poetry chapbook printings. Anyone interested in seeing their work see a printing? Should be pretty cool. Writers receive a royalty of each copy we produce, of course.

Keep up the neat work, folks. Be well.

Edit: hopefully this is cool to post here. ☺️